


His Body Was Made

by blackteaonesugar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Tease (Good Omens), Body Worship, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Ficlet, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Short & Sweet, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackteaonesugar/pseuds/blackteaonesugar
Summary: Aziraphale worships Crowley's body.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 108





	His Body Was Made

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't get the idea of freckled Crowley out of my head, so this ficlet exists. 
> 
> Title comes from the song 'Body Was Made' by Ezra Furman.

Aziraphale relishes in Crowley’s body - in all of his dips and curves and sharp edges, the way he twists and tenses and melts under his angel’s touch, the secret spots that only Aziraphale gets to see. 

He has three freckles on his lower back, between the dents that Aziraphale loves to put his thumbs into when they are making love. His shoulders are spattered with them, and they cascade down his arms to his long fingers, where the angel kisses each one of them so gently he makes his demon shiver. The angel loves to run his lips over the clusters of freckles on his demon’s body: on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, behind his right ear. Softly taking the shell of his ear into his teeth, he cards his fingers through his demon’s auburn waves, presses his groin into his lap. Aziraphale has learned that there are certain parts of his demon’s body that are extra-sensitive: philtrum, inner wrists, navel. Lips, tongue, or fingers pressed to those spots elicits such lovely,  _ needy _ sounds from his demon: whimpers and pleas, groans of pleasure and love and want. 

Aziraphale likes to take his time with his demon, likes to kiss down his body, avoiding these few key spots, until Crowley’s bottom lip is caught in his teeth and his eyelids are fluttering. Only after his demon is pliant and whimpering, only after his cock is swollen and weeping and begging to be touched, only then does the angel take his demon’s hand and scrape his teeth against his inner wrist, murmuring into the delicate skin and the blue veins: “My dear boy … how needy you are. How absolutely wrecked you are already. I have touched you all over and still you want more - is that it?” Crowley whimpers when the soft lips leave his wrists and travel down to his navel, when his tongue circles it and presses kisses into the downy hair below.. “My needy, beautiful boy. Shivering under my touch. Do you need my fingers inside you, is that it?”

And Crowley gasps, and his long fingers flex in his angel’s curls, and his throat works and rasps out a plea - “please, angel, anything, please” - and Aziraphale looks up at his demon - at his golden eyes blown wide, at the freckles on his cheeks and chest made darker by the flush of desire, his Adam’s apple working as he swallows again and again, and the angel feels a twist in his chest, a pang of such pure love for this beautiful creature underneath him, and he gives his demon what he so desperately wants and has been waiting for. 

He reaches up for Crowley’s lips, and captures them in his own, and then gently slides a finger into the tight grasping heat of his demon’s body. He works him open, his deft fingers reaching inside of him and trailing across the spot that makes his demon shout and clench around him, and when Crowley’s long red hair is splayed about him on the bed from his thrashing head, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes … then,  _ then _ , Aziraphale slides his fingers out of his demon, and replaces them with his own leaking cock. 

And Crowley never lasts long after this, but his angel understands - he has been waiting so long and has been so patient - and he tells him so as he thrusts into him, sliding his nipples over Crowley’s, his mouth in the hollow of his throat: “You are delicious, my beautiful boy, you’re so obedient, you deserve to feel so good,  _ so good _ …” and he reaches down and runs a thumb over his demon’s cockhead, and Crowley clenches, his ankles tightening at the small of his angel’s back, and his whole body tightens and wrenches upward. Then, finally, Crowley cums, gasping, shaking, grabbing at any exposed skin of Aziraphale’s, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks all over, his heels digging into his angel’s plush porcelain skin, his head thrown back. 

And Aziraphale doesn't stop, no, he continues to thrust into his demon, aching at the feel of Crowley clenching and fluttering around him. He continues to work his demon’s cock with his nimble fingers, grips his sharp hipbone with his other hand, and he smiles at Crowley while studying his face, looking at his furrowed brow and flushed cheeks, watching as his nostrils flare and his amber eyes plead, and Aziraphale knows that it is  _ too much _ and at the same time  _ not enough _ for him. He hitches his demon’s shivering legs over his own shoulders, thrilling at the delicate freckles behind his left knee, and, leaning in to press a kiss to Crowley’s kneecap, Aziraphale feels the wave of his own orgasm reach an almost unbearable peak. 

And when Crowley throatily moans as another orgasm is punched out of him, only when the angel knows his demon is sated, only _then_ does Aziraphale allow himself to let go. 

And when they both lay among the tousled sheets, boneless with exhaustion, Crowley’s chest heaving and arm thrown over his eyes, Aziraphale murmurs “How I love you,” and his breath catches in his throat as sees his demon smile and watches a dimple soften his cheek.

How lucky he is. 


End file.
